RavenStag

"The country? Ok, man. Grandiose much?"

"Dude, come on. Merrick Garland? Let's start there."

"I don't need a history lesson, Jack."

"Apparently you do. Cool. May I remind you that that asshole has lived the last 50 years of his life with the express fucking goal of screwing over anybody who wasn't his buddy so that said buddies--read: fellow assholes--could have free reign to eat this country alive. I mean, the orange one sure as shit wouldn't have gotten in once, much less twice, without he who is currently refusing to die in South 5 jerking off the levers of power."

If he puts his head through the window, will that trigger Workers Comp? Technically, it would be an injury sustained on the job, and there is some poetic justice in equating a ridiculous conversation with Jack Abbot to a slip-and-fall or man vs. forklift.

Robby manages: "That's a mental image I could've lived without."

Jack bounces on his heels, grinning like a maniac. "You're just pissed because you know I'm right about this," he says.

"Right that he's a terrible human being? Yes. Doesn't mean I think homicide's a good idea."

"You saw the EKG. He's already zombied."

"Doesn't matter," Robby shoots back. "You know it doesn't matter, not to those Secret Service agents, for one, and definitely not to a judge. Jesus, Jack! The difference of a few fucking hours isn't worth you spending the rest of your life in jail."

"Oh, I wouldn't get life," Jack says. "Ten, maybe, because it'd be a federal charge, but probably not much more than that."

Robby's mouth is hanging open. He is well aware. "Why--why am I surprised that you've gamed out your possible prison sentence over a hypothetical crime which you haven't actually committed?"

"I don't know." Jack squints up at him. "You shouldn't be. You know me, babe. I'm always prepared."

Please don't let the kitchen appliances be bugged. Please. "For a little casual homicide?" Robby hisses. "Ok. Jesus."

"Well, not every day for that one. This is, like, the definition of a black swan event. Lucky for us he keeled over at the William Penn--and in front of all those old MAGA fuckers, too! Ha! Have you seen the video?"

"No."

Jack lets out a cackle. "Oh, god, it's so good. There are like a million Tik Tok remixes already. Javadi sent me a fuckton of--"

"Jack."

"What?"

He folds his hands around Jack's face, heedless of the window, of their visibility, of everything, for once, except the understanding that Jack can hear so much more clearly when Robby's touching him. "Please," Robby says, "tell me you're not serious about this."

Jack stares up at him, pilot lights still newly struck. "I really, really hate this guy, babe."

"Understandable. He's earned it."

"Like, fuck him."

"100%. In total agreement. All I'm saying, ok, is that I love you and I like having you in my life on this side of the bars and as good as it would feel for you to metaphorically or otherwise pull the fucking plug, I'd like to think that it would feel even better to spend the rest of your life with me."

"You wouldn't come visit me, huh?"

"Not as often as you'd like. I'd be pissed at you, and I'd stay pissed. for, oh, at least the first five years."

"Shit." Long, blunt fingers curl around Robby's wrists. "Definitely no conjugals, then."

"Definitely not. Also not making any promises about your commissary."

"Man," Jack says, "you really know how to make a wholly justified political, um, act of mercy sound a lot less fun than it should be."

"You're welcome."

"I love you too, by the way."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The manic grin is back, along with waggling eyebrows. "Want me to show you how much? Say, in the supply closet over there?"

"Now? We've got handoff in ten minutes."

"Cool. I only need two."

"Hands or minutes?"